


The space inside of our heads.

by Xenadd



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Pre-show, post-A New Dawn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 04:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4248543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenadd/pseuds/Xenadd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winding her fingers into his hair she dragged him down into a bruising kiss, pulling him until he was resting on top of her. The datapads slipped, suddenly forgotten, onto the floor. She finally released him, both gasping for air, as she rested her forehead against his.</p><p>‘I think you’re right, love. It can wait ‘til morning.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	The space inside of our heads.

**Author's Note:**

> Post-AND, Pre-Spark of Rebellion.
> 
> Originally posted on Tumblr.

Kanan made his way through the dark empty halls of the ghost, silent except for the distant burbling of Chopper. it was probably best that Kanan couldn’t make out what the droid was cooing at; the droid had been a nightmare since Hera had unearthed him from whatever junk pile she found him in. They were currently at an impasse in their on-going tussle for.. something  (Kanan refused to consider it as being for Hera’s attention), and he was disinclined to provoke the rust-bucket when they were settling in for some downtime. At last.

All of the ship’s systems were on stand-by, and the ship glowed in the blue-hazed light of twin moons. Down time at last. Kanan rolled his shoulders as he unclipped his armour, tugging it off with a grunt when it caught on his collar. A long string of ops had left them drained and Kanan feeling that his armour was slowly fusing to his skin. Job after job, small jabs here and there to keep the ship in the air, food in their bellies and the Empire irritated. Kanan was frustrated. _Hera_ was frustrated. They were making contacts, quietly spreading word of their cause. But progress was slow. So slow to be negligible.  Down time. They’d get the chance to relax, reassess, and get ready to hit the Empire where it hurts. Wherever that may be.

Kanan hit the door to the cabin open, and warm light spilled out into the dim hallway. He took a moment to pause and take in the sight before him, warmth gathering in his stomach at the perfect snapshot of home and happiness that he had never expected to have - even in those long ago days when he thought his future was bright and heroic. Hera smiled at him from the datapad in her hand without looking up, fully engrossed in whatever research she was doing. More were scattered across the nest of blankets and pillows gathered around her. She was relaxed in a soft, worn tank and silk ryl-knickers - her one small indulgence. Bare legs spilling out from the vast cushioned volume - her own blankets long since supplemented by those from Kanan’s cabin. Her fingers were bare as they flew over her datapad, and she was ready for the night. Except for her pilot’s cap, still encasing her headtails.

As Hera began to frown at the draft he was letting in, Kanan stepped into the room and closed the door. 

‘Chopper ran the diagnostic on the grav drive - the repair should hold up, but we should pick up another regulator to be safe.’ Hera let out a noncommittal grunt, her fingers still flying. He tossed his armour and gloves onto a chair, watching her closely once he tugged his jumper over his head.

‘Then a Sarlaac decided the Phantom would be a delicious snack. Chopper sacrificed himself nobly to save it.’ 

‘Yes, dear.’ Hera frowned at her pad and picked up another to compare, pulling one leg back in and under her. Kanan sighed, rolling his eyes and leant down, bracing his arms on the pillows until his nose was level with Hera’s, peering over the ‘pad. She was dedicated to her cause, alright. But sometimes other things had to come first.

‘You in there, Captain?’

‘This new contact - Fulcrum? I can’t find anything on them. None of my contacts have heard of them, no reports, no past ops. Nothing. It’s like they don’t exist.’ Hera’s eyes met his, distant and unfocussed - mind still gnawing over the data. ‘But the data they’ve sent - the op they want us to run - it’s, it’s…’

‘It… can wait?’ Kanan’s eyebrows rose as he slowly pushed the datapad down and out of the way.

Hera stared searchingly into his eyes, frowning. Kanan frowned back. This was clearly a serious op - bigger than anything in a long while if it was giving Hera this much pause. As Kanan was bracing to stand up, to prepare for yet another long night pouring over datapads and charts, Hera’s hand snaked around his head to tug at the tie holding his hair back. Winding her fingers into his hair she dragged him down into a bruising kiss, pulling him until he was resting on top of her. The datapads slipped, suddenly forgotten, onto the floor. She finally released him, both gasping for air, as she rested her forehead against his.

‘I think you’re right, love. It can wait ‘til morning.’ 

Tenderly she tucked his hair behind his ear, tracing his mouth, jaw, cheek with delicate kisses before returning to kiss him deeply. Kanan slid one hand under her, the other at her waist, as he stood, bringing her up with him. The kiss remained unbroken through Hera’s startled hums as Kanan sat back on the bed, settling Hera above him. Undoing the fastening at her jaw, he slowly - achingly slowly - peeled her cap down her headtails, purposefully allowing his hand to glide down the underside of her left lek, enjoying her shivers as she pressed against his chest. Offending cap removed, he pulled her back in for a kiss, his hands sliding under her tank to caress the underside of her breasts before removing it entirely. 

Leaning back to take her, he saw worry and something else in her eyes - desperation? fear? Before he could work it out, she was pulling on his hair. One hand teasing her lek and the other stroking her back, he determinedly tickled her neck with his beard, enjoying the press of her breasts against his chest as she squirmed.

He froze, mind wiped blank, as he moved to whisper in her earcone and he saw it. Right there, where it was normally hidden by her cap and dim lighting. A tiny scar. Jagged but precise, like it had been done by an expert in a hurry. In a hurry, on the run. An incision to remove something. He had seen scars like those before, on refugees more sullen and quiet than the rest; scraped over in dark and drunken fumbles in backwater cantinas; on bodies left to rot outside the boundaries of Imperial ‘facilities’, a message to any who would defy their overlords. There had been a rumour so long ago that General Skywalker had such a scar. But there had always been a lot of rumours about General Skywalker.

As the implication of that tiny scar - of the pasts they never addressed - sank in, one of Hera’s hands slipped to his shoulder, nails digging in. The other tugged gently at his hair. That dark _something_ was back in her eyes. Kanan grasped Hera behind the knees and dragged her as close to him as he possibly could, all space between them gone _. The markings on her lekku_. One hand clutched her hip, the other caressing her lek as he covered her neck with wet kisses _he had wondered_ until her back softened and she let out a low, throaty giggle that shot straight to his belly.

Once every pillow, cushion and blanket was on the floor, every deep sigh and giggle drawn out, Hera and Kanan lay tangled together on the bare bunk. Hera idly traced the dark hair on Kanan’s arm as she settled under his chin.

’Slaves, Kanan. Fulcrum wants us to recon an Imperial slave compound.’

‘In the morning.’


End file.
